


whosa good boy? that's a good boy!

by CassandraCaffrey



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Transformation, Fluff and Crack, IT Chapter Two Fix-It, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), The Losers Club (IT) Love Each Other, The Turtle CAN Help Us (IT)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22676566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassandraCaffrey/pseuds/CassandraCaffrey
Summary: Dying, on the whole, goes pretty much the way Eddie expected it to.(Except for the whole meeting a giant mystical turtle which sends him back to Derry in a body that's not human at all. Yeah, Eddie couldn't have seen that coming even if he'd tried.)
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 16
Kudos: 166





	whosa good boy? that's a good boy!

Dying, on the whole, goes pretty much the way Eddie expected it to.

To clarify: Eddie hadn’t expected to die due to being impaled after saving one of his forgotten childhood friends by an alien taking on the form of a giant spider with knives for legs. He doubted that would have even made his list of Top One Thousand Ways Eddie Kaspbrak Might Go Out. He hadn’t expected to put a hand on his torso and feel only a hollow of hot wet slime.

But the pain is making him floaty, like he thought it might, a stark contrast to the sharp lightning clarification of Bowers driving a knife clean through his cheek or breaking his arm in a horror house. There’s voices around him and bodies moving - his friends, growing ever-fuzzy around the edges as Eddie’s vision goes floaty too. 

And then there’s Richie, and Richie should be going fuzzy too, but instead he seems to be growing clearer. Like Eddie’s seeing him for the first time. The little cracks in the lenses of his glasses, lips and chin dark with blood - the same blood Eddie’s mouth is swimming with? - and the worry. Richie’s worried. 

No, it’s more than that. 

Richie’s _desperate_.

Saying “I fucked your mom” seems like a good idea at the time. Something to take Richie’s mind off things. Something to make Richie smile again, something to make Richie look like _Richie_ again. 

Except, before he gets to see Richie smile, Eddie dies. 

Well, those were fucking terrible last words.

xxx

So Eddie’s dead now. 

Death is dark and oppressive and it makes Eddie want to reach for his inhaler, except Eddie is no longer breathing, so a fat lot of help that would be.

He kinda thought he’d be more… dead. Figured there would be a lot more nothing. 

The turtle is a surprise. 

_Your friends are defeating It,_ the turtle tells Eddie, which Eddie supposes is nice of it. _Does that make you happy?_

Eddie considers this. He doesn’t feel much of anything, really. _I don’t think so?_

The turtle blinks slowly. Eddie lives another lifetime and dies again in the time it takes the turtle to blink. _What would make you happy?_

_My friends,_ comes automatically. _Richie’s smile_.

The turtle hums. It’s too big for Eddie to see the flippers (how does he know it’s a turtle when all he can see is a single giant eye? An eye which should be reflecting Eddie and which instead reflects galaxies?) but he knows the turtle took a deeper dive into the nothingness with that hum. _You were always meant to die for your friends, little Eddie Kaspbrak_.

Eddie knows this. It’s how he’s always wanted to die. 

_And now you have, I can grant you what you want_.

Isn’t that what Eddie’s already received?

_Your body needs time to heal. But there is another which I can give you, for now._

Eddie doesn’t want another body. He’s already spent four decades guarding the one he was born with. 

The turtle heaves a sigh. _And look how well that turned out for you. Now, do you want this gift or not?_

Eddie thinks it over. 

He thinks about telling his friends he died for them because it’s what he wanted. 

He thinks about telling Richie how he’d been the one to make Eddie brave enough to do that. 

Eddie takes the gift. 

xxx

It’s like coming up for air after jumping into the quarry. 

He gulps desperately for air and the inhaled oxygen soothes the little icy pinpricks all down his throat, all over his skin, all over his - paws?

Yes, paws. 

Petite ones, from what Eddie can see past the ruff of fur coating his chest. They make little tapping sounds against the grainy dirt as he lifts them up and down.

He’s outside the Neilbolt house, but when he turns, the Neilbolt house is gone. Vanished. Like it never existed to begin with.

More important is a nearby puddle, which Eddie immediately darts over and lowers his muzzle to. The water is mucky but thirst is suddenly far more important, the way killing a clown from outer space was far more important than the dangers of wading through graywater with open wounds. 

Eddie stops lapping at the puddle to turn his head, meaning to check his cheek. 

And would you believe, it’s only now, with Eddie facing his reflection in the rippling water of a muddy puddle, that he realises the turtle was very vague about the body Eddie was going to come back in on purpose.

But really. A fucking _pomeranian?_

xxx

Eddie trots on down to the Derry Townhouse, because where else is he meant to go? 

He could try the library, he supposes, if the Losers have all up and left. Eddie doesn’t know how much time has passed since he died. There’s not even a convenient newspaper blowing around in the gutter for him to check the date. 

Lucky for him, Richie’s shiny sports car is in the carpark (funny, Eddie thought it was more red when he’d admired it the first time around). Confidence boosted, he hops on up the townhouse steps and - 

And there’s no fucking way he’s going to reach the doorhandle, because he’s all of a foot tall at most. 

Eddie licks his nose. He’s a grown man. He can figure this out. It’s a logic puzzle. Eddie’s good at sudokus; usually has a book stored beside his bed to help distract himself enough from thinking about how meaningless his life is until the sleeping medication kicks in. 

He could drag something to stand on towards the door, but there’s no crates or boxes that he can currently see. 

He tries balancing on his hind legs and is pleasantly surprised to find he’s good at that, but it doesn’t offer much in the way of extra height. 

He thinks of his mom’s hatred of little yappy dogs, and the arguments her and Myra had over Myra’s desire to adopt one for herself (that had never happened; after all, Eddie was allergic to dogs). 

Eddie licks his nose again and sneezes. He hopes that’s just coincidence. 

He sits in front of the door, scrapes his tiny claws pitifully at the wood, and tries to make noises. Human speech doesn’t come easy, and there’s a lot of little huffs and grunts made before he hits upon a high-pitched yap which sounds for all the world like he’s a squeezed squeaky toy. 

He keeps it up until he hears footsteps, and in his excitement falls backwards off the townhouse steps. 

“Oh, hey there, little buddy!” says a familiar voice, and suddenly there’s a hand scratching at Eddie’s belly before he can wriggle himself upright. “What’re you doing here?” 

Eddie’s plan had been to communicate through charades - scratch out a message in the dirt, dart upstairs and bump into the door to his room until the others put two and two together - but god, Ben was _good_ with his fingers. Eddie’s tail was thumping hard against the ground as he wriggled around in the gravel (Bev was going to be so lucky if the two of them ever worked out whatever that tension was). 

Unfortunately, it meant Eddie was entirely unprepared for the ground suddenly disappearing beneath him as Ben scooped him up into his arms.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up and go find your owner,” Ben says all sing-song with a tap of his finger against Eddie’s nose. Eddie resists the unexpected urge to lunge at it with his little needle teeth. “A good, uh - boy like yourself shouldn’t be wandering Derry alone!” 

“What the fuck is that?!” Another voice exclaims, and Eddie’s tiny dog-heart thuds so sharp and sudden he’s terrified for a moment it’s going to explode in his ribcage.

 _Richie_.

“That’s what was yapping on the doorstep,” Ben explains brightly, as Eddie wriggles desperately in his arms to try and see. “Poor little guy’s filthy, I’m gonna clean him up and take him to the vet.” 

“Benny, I’m saying this cause I love you,” Richie says. He doesn’t sound right. He sounds hollow. Like he’s just going through the motions. “Put that fucking thing back out on the street.”

“Rich!” 

“It turned into one of those things to attack me and-!” And now Eddie’s alarmed because Richie’s voice cuts off with a choked sob. “Me and - Eddie and-”

Immediately, Ben places Eddie down. “Hey, hey, it’s okay-”

Eddie twists around, just in time to see Ben catch Richie up into a tight hug. Richie’s still perched on the barstool, so he’s leaning on Ben for actual support as much as emotional, and -

 _Eddie_ made Richie cry like that. 

He pads over hesitantly, sits at their feet, and rests his muzzle against Richie’s calf. 

_I’m here. I didn’t want to make you cry. I’m here._

Richie jumps away like he’s been burned, foot catching in the barstool as he does so. If he hadn’t already been clinging to Ben, he would have gone sprawling, maybe twisted an ankle. “Don’t touch me!” 

“It’s just a dog!” Ben protests. 

“It’s a fucking demon dog, is what it is,” Richie mutters, adjusting his crooked glasses. Eddie can’t quite see from all the way down here, but he thinks he can make out the cracks. They used to argue, when they were kids, about why Richie never carried a spare pair of specs on him just in case. Even when Eddie offered to swap his fannypack for a backpack so he could carry them for him. “Keep it away from me, alright?”

“You got it,” Ben says, and Eddie realises with a start that Ben’s going to try and pick him up again. 

He hops away from Ben’s outstretched hands and scarpers away, making for the stairs. 

That’s one advantage of this little fragile body: Eddie can _run_. He runs and he bounces over the steps and he doesn’t want to stop, wants to barrell down the corridor and back again several times over, wants to bounce off the walls. 

He collides into the door of his own room way too soon. 

To his surprise, it’s open.

Behind him, footsteps thud heavily on the steps as Richie and Ben chase after. 

_Think, Eds, think!_

He can’t grab his signature inhaler, because that’s a little puddle of molten plastic somewhere deep underground. His wallet is down there too, along with the rest of him - and the thought of that, the thought that Eddie’s _actual_ body is already buried and destroyed beyond repair, no matter what the turtle might have said, turns Eddie’s body to ice. 

No surprise Ben scoops him up again so easily. 

“Alright, buddy, you’ve gotten your muddy paws on everything! It’s bath-time for you!” 

xxx

Pomeranians are a fucking lie. 

One blast from the shower and Eddie’s shivering and looking like a drowned rat. He knew his limbs were small; he just didn’t know _how_ small until his fur went all wet and his legs became roughly the same size as pipecleaners.

Ben’s the one massaging shampoo into his fur, but the other Losers have gathered in the bathroom too. 

It should be embarrassing. Should be humiliating. He should be blushing under all this fur and growling at them. 

Except Eddie died for these people and he’s warmer than the water Ben’s using on him. Ben, working the shampoo into a lather gently along his spine, Eddie would die for him all over again. Bev and Mike, kneeling on either side of Ben, Mike holding Eddie steady for Ben and Bev resting her head on Ben’s shoulder? Eddie would die for them too. Richie and Bill, talking over near the sink in hushed voices? Yeah, definitely. 

Maybe Eddie’s life wasn’t as meaningless as he’d always thought.

“He’s so cute,” Bev coos again, scratching behind Eddie’s ear. Eddie gives a little huff of pleasure. “We should give him a name, just until we find his owner.”

“Oh, great idea, Bev!” Richie pipes up, and there’s the shit-eating grin Eddie remembers so well. “How about, uh, Demon? Gremlin? Ooh, or how about Penny, short for Pennywise?” 

There’s a chorus of “Beep beeps” around the room, and Eddie feels kinda guilty about it because Richie does have a point. If Eddie had been here too, human Eddie, he’d have probably been on Richie’s side in considering the random dog found on the doorstep a possible incarnation of It.

Instead, Eddie turns and licks Bev’s hand gently. She giggles.

Eddie can regret all the gross stuff his dog brain wants him to do when the turtle returns him to his human body.

 _If_ the turtle returns him to his human body.

“It’s funny,” Mike says. “I don’t remember seeing any pomeranians around Derry.”

“Maybe it’s someone who’s new to town? Or like, inherited a pet recently or something,” Ben suggests, covering Eddie’s eyes so the soap won’t trickle down into them. Eddie tilts his head up, trying to help. “He’s very well-behaved! Whosa good boy?” 

Eddie’s tail thumps against the side of the bathtub. _I am!_

If only Richie were smiling and cooing along with the rest of them.

Xxx

Eddie hadn’t realised just how fluffy he was. 

He’s playing at being the lapdog he currently is, Bev holding him gently between her crossed legs while she waves a hairdryer at him. Eddie instinctively snaps at the air when it passes a little too close to his mouth and otherwise closes his eyes to simply enjoy his own spa experience to the fullest. His front paws knead Bev’s thigh, careful to avoid the dark bruises that she must have gained while they were fighting It. 

He loves her so much. He loves them all so much. 

“You’re such a considerate gentleman,” Bev murmurs, and she laughs when it causes Eddie to go on another happy wriggle spree.

“Uh-huh…” Mike says into the phone, from where he’s sitting on Ben’s bed. Ben had volunteered his bathroom for dog-washing. “Yeah, I think that’s all - let me know if anyone does ring in, okay? Thanks, Luce.” Call over, he lowers his phone. “There’s been no missing pom reports at the vet.”

“Maybe they don’t know he’s m-missing yet,” Bill suggests from where he’s lying back against the headboard besides Mike, one hand resting on Mike’s thigh. It’s a little thing, intimate. 

Ben and Richie are on the floor against the bed, Ben all sprawled out and dopey-eyed as he watches Bev - some things never change - and Richie with his knees tucked up to his chest, glaring at Eddie through his cracked lenses as if daring to make a move. 

If only Richie knew the only move Eddie wants to make is an embrace. He wants to hold Richie tightly and say “I know my last words to you fucking sucked, let me make it up to you”.

Too bad his current stick legs and his tendency to yip can’t possibly comply. 

Bev moves the hairdryer to the back of his neck and Eddie gives a little whine of delight at the warmth of it. 

“He’s just seeking attention,” Richie says bluntly. “Look at him. What a suck-up.”

“Like you can talk,” Bev teases, ducking her head to plant a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head. 

“What the fuck’s that meant to mean, Miss Marsh?”

Bev slips a hand under Eddie’s belly, half-lifting him up as she aims the air to the insides of his front legs. “How’s your marriage to Eddie’s mom going again?”

Eddie stiffens. 

He’s not the only one; the other Losers sit up a little straighter, suddenly on alert.

Richie though - Richie just laughs, a small bark of laughter which doesn’t sound too dissimilar to some of the noises Eddie’s been making. “Touché, Bevvie my love! Sorry to report my dear darling wife hasn’t been the same since she was strangled by her own metal bikini strings. Tragic.”

Eddie can’t help it; he scrambles out of Bev’s lap and practically bounces into Richie’s, wedging himself between Richie’s thighs and his torso before pressing his front paws to Richie’s chest. Lucky for him, Richie’s posture is so poor that Eddie’s nearly nose-to-nose with him at this angle. 

“H-hey!” Richie exclaims, tensing up. “Someone get this dog off me!”

Before anyone can, Eddie huffs and bounces up, licking a stripe across the lens of Richie’s glasses that isn’t cracked. _Don’t talk shit about my mom!_

Someone’s hands encircle Eddie. He immediately changes tactics, dropping down and trying to burrow against Richie’s stomach. One of the buttons pops upon under his paws and he presses his nose to the bare skin.

Richie yelps. “Oh shit! That’s cold!” 

_Good!_ Eddie keeps prodding his nose against Richie’s stomach, Richie squirming beneath him until suddenly he starts laughing. 

It’s a different laugh to before. 

“Okay, okay, quit it!” It’s Richie’s hands that dig into Eddie’s sides now, that lift him up and off his lap. Richie’s holding him, studying him closely through his saliva-covered glasses but he’s smiling - the first genuine smile Eddie’s seen from him since his return. “You really are a demon, aren’t you?” 

Eddie wants to hold him close. Maybe kiss his cheek.

xxx

_Do you know what you want, little Edward Kaspbrak?_

xxx

One moment Eddie’s paws are pedalling through the air; the next he’s crashing heavily back to the ground. 

He flings out his arms around Richie’s neck to brace himself, and - wait. 

_Wait._

Arms. Human arms. _Eddie’s_ arms, specifically, just the way he remembers them. 

The room has gone very, very quiet. 

Eddie slowly leans back. The way he’s landed, he’s straddling Richie’s hips, hands clutching Richie’s shoulders, and Richie’s staring at him with eyes blown wide like he’s seen a ghost. 

Richie probably thinks he has.

“Uh,” Eddie says. It’s weird, working with human vocal chords again. “Can someone get me some clothes?”

xxx

It’s late by the time Eddie is finally allowed to stumble back to his hotel room. There’s a floor-length mirror standing in the corner, where he can admire the various layers he’s accumulated - boxers and a shirt from Ben, Bev’s silk dressing gown, sweatpants from Richie that practically swamp his legs which Richie had sprinted to fetch the moment he saw goosebumps on Eddie’s thighs, Bill’s socks which Richie had snatched claiming he had no clean pairs.

His hair’s either a little longer than it used to be, or Bev’s hairdryer affected more than just his fur. It curls around his temples, sticking up at odd angles in a way it hasn’t since Eddie was in his twenties. Maybe it’s a bit gingery, too? Could just be the lighting. 

He leaves the boxers on and takes everything else off to return to their respective owners. Under the clothes, his skin is pale, which is normal, with a hairless patch of mottled even paler skin across the centre of his torso, which is new. Eddie flattens a palm across his chest and watches himself inhale and exhale. 

It takes him a few breaths before he notices Richie sticking his head around the bedroom door. 

“You gonna come in, or…?”

Richie jerks, nearly slamming the door back on himself. “Eds! I was, uh-”

He thankfully gives up on talking and enters, closing the door behind him. Eddie tugs Bev’s dressing gown back on - it’s still a little chilly in this old house - and falls back onto the bed, patting the mattress next to him; a second later Richie slumps beside him. 

“So, uh,” Richie says, resolutely staring at the ceiling as he rests his hands on his own chest and twiddles his thumbs. “I’ve been crying a lot.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He tugs the sash of Bev’s dressing gown closed. “You tried to kick me.”

Richie flushes. “And I apologised for that! I said I’m sorry!” 

“You’re gonna say it a lot more than that,” Eddie teases, and then groans. “No, Richie, it’s… it’s _me_ who should be saying sorry.”

“Oh?” Richie shifts on the bed, rolling onto his side and propping his head up. “Because you - because you _died_? Eds, you can’t be sorry about-”

“I’m sorry for saying such stupid last words to you!” It comes out in a rush; Eddie covers his face with his hands. “It was - it was all I could think about as I was, like... it seemed like a good idea at the time!“

And then Richie’s hand is on Eddie’s, tugging it down. “Hey. Hey, Eds… now you’re back, it’s pretty funny.” 

“It’s fucking not and you know it.”

“Now you’re back, it is!” 

Richie’s grinning and their fingers are entwined. Huh. When did that happen. 

The turtle’s voice, echoing in the back of his mind: _Do you know what you want, little Edward Kaspbrak?_

“I love you,” Eddie says in a rush. It feels like dying. It feels floaty. “I fucking love you, Richie Tozier, and I should have told you that instead of a fucking your mom joke. Maggie doesn’t even deserve it, she was alway so nice to-”

And then he shuts up, because Richie’s mouth is on his and it’s. 

It’s good.

It’s _more_ than good. 

It's a good thing Eddie doesn't have a tail now because if did, he’d never stop wagging it.


End file.
